(Pull out to reveal that the 'Blue Peter' set is in one corner
of a stockbroker-belt sitting room. Two ladies an sitting by the
fire looking at a photo album.)
Mrs. Nigger-Baiter: Oh, yes, he's such a clever little
boy, just like his father.
Mrs. Shazam: D'you think so, Mrs. Nigger-Baiter?
Mrs. Nigger-Baiter: Oh yes, spitting image.
(The door opens. The son comes in.)
Son: Good afternoon, mother. Good afternoon, Mrs.
Mrs. Nigger-Baiter: Ooh, he's walking already!
Mrs. Shazam: Yes, he's such a clever little boy, aren't
you? Coochy coochy coo . . .
Mrs. Nigger-Baiter: Hello, coochy coo...
Mrs. Shazam: Hello, hello... (they chuck him under the
Mrs. Nigger-Baiter: Oochy coochy. (the son smiles a
little tight smile) Look at him laughing... ooh, he's a chirpy
little fellow. Isn't he a chirpy little fellow ... eh? eh? Does he
talk Does he talk, eh?
Son: Of course I talk, I'm Minister for Overseas
Mrs. Nigger-Baiter: Ooh, he's a clever little boy - he's a
clever little boy. (gets out a rattle) Do you like your
rattle? Do you like your rattle? Look at his little eyes following
it ... look at his iggy piggy piggy little eyeballs eh... oo... he's
got a tubby tumotum. Oh, he's got a tubby tum-tum.
Son: (whilst Mrs. Nigger-Baiter is talking) Mother,
could I have a quick cup of tea please. I have an important
statement on Rhodesia to make in the Commons at six.
(Sound of an explosion out of vision. Cut to reveal Mrs.
Nigger-Baiter's chair charred and smoking. Mrs. Nigger-Baiter is no
longer there. The upholstery is smoldering gently.)
Mrs. Shazam: Oh, Mrs. Nigger-Baiter's exploded.
Son: Good thing, too.
Mrs. Shazam: She was my best friend.
Son: Oh, mother, don't be so Sentimental. Things explode
Mrs. Shazam: Yes, I suppose so. Anyway, I didn't really
like her that much.
(The doorbell rings. Mrs. Shazam goes to the door.